


Inextricable

by Squidalicious



Category: Junjou Romantica
Genre: Alternate Interpretation, Angst, Destiny, Flashbacks, Forgiveness, M/M, Mystery, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 02:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11888433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squidalicious/pseuds/Squidalicious
Summary: (Request) Like the first rays of dawn breaking out over the cemetery, so must the secret Akihiko has concealed for ten dark years come to light.





	1. Chapter 1

Early morning sunrays of deep crimson spill into the cemetery, trickling slowly down monuments and along the neatly paved path and staining the pale sakura trees magenta. The spring air is still and quiet, as though it's holding its breath. Akihiko is holding his as he hovers uncertainly at the top of a worn flight of steps. On the horizon, the sun does the same thing, a perfect semi-circle peering out from behind the distant Tokyo skyline. The sky beyond is thick and red as blood. Akihiko glances down at his white shirt- spotted with actual blood- and notes the damp sweat he can feel seeping through it despite the relative coolness. He looks up again.

Misaki's profile is little more than a black silhouette against the red light, making it impossible to glimpse the expression on his face. He's sitting just a few feet away beside the path, legs crossed, head slightly dipped with an emotion Akihiko can't decipher. He isn't sure he wants to.

The silence as Akihiko stands and watches him is suffocating rather than calming, clawing at his already frayed nerves. His heart thuds a sickening beat; he can feel it throbbing in his left eye- sure to be blackening now- and the side of his still-tender jaw. He doesn't dare move a muscle. It was with such sureness that he made his way here, driven solely by an inexplicable certainty that he'd find Misaki at the top of these steps, but now that he's actually here he can't seem to make himself go any further.

A sudden shift of the shadows is the nudge he needs. The sun is still rising. Time, far from standing still as it had seemed, is running out.

His legs feel unsteady as he approaches. A pink snow of petals covers the ground, muffling his footsteps as he nears the twin monuments. Misaki, sitting on the plot in front of them with his back to Akihiko, doesn't move, and at first he thinks the younger man must not have noticed him. However, when he then- very gingerly- takes a seat beside him and Misaki still doesn't bat an eyelid, Akihiko realises he's been aware of his presence since the moment he arrived and simply hasn't acknowledged it.

It's not an encouraging revelation.

The shadows of the two headstones stretch towards them as they sit on the bed of grass and cherry blossoms. Akihiko feels like he's stretching, too, thinner and thinner until he's on the verge of snapping. Misaki doesn't look at him or say a single word, and Akihiko thinks, _he knows_. Of course he knows; it's been over twenty-four hours since… since it happened, and it's been all over the news. Besides, why else would Misaki be here, ignoring Akihiko like he had been his calls and texts?

He must have been sitting in this same spot for a while, because sakura petals have settled on his shoulders and in his hair. Akihiko wants to brush them away, but his boyfriend (are they still boyfriends? Probably not) is a grenade at the moment; he has no idea what might trigger an explosion. He wishes Misaki would give him some kind of clue. He's never seen that usually animated face so impassive. So… hollow. Green eyes are empty as the red light glints in them. They're staring straight forwards at the space between the monuments, unfocused, but after who-knows-how-long of agonizing silence they flit in Akihiko's direction. He sees them snag on the rusty bloodstains on his shirt, skimming over the wounds on his face but never actually meeting the author's gaze.

When he speaks, it's with no trace of emotion. "Did Nii-chan do that?"

It shows how well he knows his older brother, if he actually expected him to do such a thing; Akihiko certainly hadn't, though he doesn't blame Takahiro, either. "Yeah."

A slow blink of acknowledgement is the only reaction Misaki's face betrays. "Are you okay?" he asks, not sounding particularly concerned about the answer.

"I'm fine," Akihiko says, even with the taste of blood still lingering in his mouth. He swallows it away. "I deserved it."

Misaki makes a noise that could be a grunt of agreement, but doesn't say anything more. Sweat is now pooling in the small of Akihiko's back. He finds he can't bear to look at his beloved anymore, so he turns his head, but the sight that greets him isn't much better; the shadow of the tall, granite stone is still creeping towards him like an incoming tide, causing the chills raking over him to multiply. The sun blazes on the lettering, giving it the ominous appearance of something etched out of liquid fire, and when he glimpses the words _memory_ and _Takahashi_ and _parents_ he drops his gaze the ground instead. There's a half-empty wooden water pail- Misaki has already scrubbed the graves clean- and behind the fresh flowers a thin plume of smoke drifts lazily from a burning incense stick. Akihiko can smell them both, a sickly concoction of smoky and sweet that turns his stomach.

He's paid his respects to this place so many times before- be it with Takahiro or Misaki, or both, or neither- and the guilt is always a leaden weight within him, but never has he found it quite so unbearable as he does now. Now, Akihiko is exposed. There's nowhere to run and hide anymore, like he has been for the past decade.

_Has it really been that long?_ Before he can answer himself, Misaki's voice cuts through the silence again.

"So are you going to explain yourself, or what?"

His blank tone has now hardened at the edges, and the invisible bindings constricting Akihiko's chest tighten another notch. He closes his eyes. The bloody light burns through his eyelids even so as he tries to breathe in, filling his vision with red, and amidst that red he sees Takahiro's tear-streaked face. Brown eyes wild behind steamed-up glasses. A fist cast in iron hatred, driving itself once, twice into Akihiko's submissive flesh.

" _You fucking liar, you FUCKING LIAR, you-"_

Quickly, he forces his eyes back open. The twin tombstones loom over him, waiting. Beside him, Misaki waits too. The taste of the incense is bitter and acrid as another breath shudders into his lungs.

It was foolish to think he could outrun the past. He's no less of an idiot than he was ten years ago.


	2. Chapter 2

It's late on a rainy, March night when Akihiko is called into his father's office.

He slinks through the door with a scowl on his face, still in his school uniform. Graduation was today, and most of Akihiko's classmates are currently getting wasted on sake in various izakayas across Tokyo. Takahiro invited him along, of course, but as eager as Akihiko always is to spend time with him, he's not quite so eager to celebrate his flawless exam results by sitting hunched on the dirty, sticky floor of a crowded room, choking down cheap alcohol whilst the shouts of his intoxicated peers threaten to burst his eardrums. There are few things he enjoys less than socialising.

One of those things, however, is any form of interaction whatsoever with his father, who's watching Akihiko with stern, steel-grey eyes from behind his desk. The expression on his face alone makes the teenager curse himself for not sucking it up and staying out for the night.

Reluctantly, he slouches into the chair in front of the desk, dropping his bag on the carpet with a graceless _thud_. "Yeah?"

"Sit up straight, Akihiko," says Fuyuhiko, tight lipped. "And for goodness' sake, address me with a little formality. I _am_ your father."

Akihiko resists the urge to roll his eyes as he heaves himself upright in his seat (it's hard and uncomfortable- nothing like Fuyuhiko's high-backed leather chair), making no move to amend his discourteous greeting. He doesn't believe in showing respect to those who haven't earned it.

There's a strained silence as Fuyuhiko waits, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, and Akihiko makes himself clear by averting his and looking disinterestedly around the room. It's not often he comes in here. Years of practise have made the boy quite adept at avoiding his father at all costs, so now Fuyuhiko only calls him in when it's absolutely necessary; the last time Akihiko sat down in his office was months ago, and yet he notes as he gazes blankly at his surroundings that they still look exactly the same as they always have. The matching oak furniture is polished to a shine; the bookshelves are neatly stocked, leather-bound tomes as pristine as Akihiko's own books are ratty with constant handling; the old-fashioned floor lamp glows dimly in the corner, allowing Akihiko to see his own reflection in the darkened window. He stares obstinately at it until Fuyuhiko- realising he isn't going to get the 'how may I serve you, o great father?' he wants- exhales through his nose.

"Do you know why I wanted to speak to you tonight?" he asks once Akihiko deigns to look him in the eye again.

Exhaling, the younger Usami tilts his head back. He doesn't have time for this; there's a half-finished sex scene starring himself and Takahiro on his laptop that he wants to lose himself in. "You're pissed off at me for some stupid reason, and now you're going to give me an hour-long lecture that we both know I'm not going to listen to?" he guesses, keeping his gaze on the intricate plasterwork of the ceiling.

He can all but hear Fuyuhiko counting to ten in his head before he replies.

"This time," he says, "you _are_ going to listen to me, Akihiko. And I'd like you to look at me, too, if that's not too much trouble."

Though he'd like to make a point of disobeying every little order his father gives him, Akihiko knows better than to do so when Fuyuhiko's words are as curt and clipped as they currently are. He lets his head loll forwards again, peering apathetically at his father through untrimmed, silver bangs.

"Fine. So, what have I done now?"

Fuyuhiko folds his hands together on the desktop. It's a weirdly business-like gesture that makes Akihiko feel more like one of his employees than his son. "It's more a matter of what you _haven't_ done, Akihiko."

 _What I_ haven't _done?_ Akihiko heaves a sigh that's tinged with old leather and furniture polish, not bothering to hide it. He can't wait to hear the nit his father has picked out for him tonight.

"For God's sake, old man, I just graduated at the top of my year," he reminds him (not that Fuyuhiko was particularly ecstatic about that, even when Akihiko showed him his score sheet full of 'A's). "How can you not be satisfied with that? As far as I can tell, the only thing I haven't done is puked a gallon of illegally obtained alcohol into some gutter like every other eighteen-year-old is tonight," he adds, "and I fail to see how that could possibly be a problem, even for you."

Whatever response he's hoping for doesn't come; Fuyuhiko simply straightens his tie and makes a face of vague distaste, as if Akihiko's just made a racist joke or something.

"You also haven't applied to any of the law schools we agreed on last year," he says, quietly.

There's a moment of silence, in which only the rain splattering against the window behind the desk is audible. Akihiko's eyebrows bunch together as he stares at his father. He was expecting Fuyuhiko's lecture to be about the ridiculously expensive car he bought the minute he turned eighteen, or the dinner party with some CEO last week he deliberately skipped, or something of that nature; not _this_ tired old topic.

"Ummm… Have you forgotten what _else_ happened last year?" he says. "I published a _bestseller_ , remember? Won a big fancy award for it and everything? Youngest ever recipient?"

Fuyuhiko's face remains impassive. "That doesn't change my point."

Confusion twists Akihiko's features. Why was Fuyuhiko still going on about _law school_? Didn't he already know Akihiko has no plans for university anymore? True, he wasn't exactly thrilled when his son made that first book deal at seventeen, but he didn't do anything to hinder him, either. Didn't they make a wordless agreement that Akihiko would be pursuing his own goals from then on? Was he mistaken about that?

He speaks slowly, in case Fuyuhiko is just having a bout of old man senility and needs even the simplest of things explained to him very carefully.

"I don't need law school anymore. Isaka-san said he can sign me up to Marukawa publishing this summer. I'm set." Fuyuhiko frowns at him, and he throws up his hands in disbelief. " _What?_ Did you have it in your head that I was still gonna sit through eight years of law school when I have a much less mind-numbing career option open to me now?"

"Akihiko," his father says. He is, Akihiko realises with great annoyance, mimicking his son's slow-and-simple voice, talking to him like he used to when Akihiko was about six. "Do you really need me to explain why I can't let you throw away your entire future to write _stories_ for a living?"

Akihiko's body goes very still. He stops slouching, straightening his spine and sitting rigidly in front of the desk as Fuyuhiko watches. Panic is already pumping doubly fast through his veins.

"You didn't have an issue when I published last year." He tries to keep his voice neutral.

"Yes, well," says Fuyuhiko with a huff. He straightens his tie again, looking chagrined. "I assumed if I simply humoured you on that one occasion, you'd be satisfied and grow out of your little hobby, but-"

"Little hobby?" he repeats, bristling. " _Little hobby?_ "

"- but now I realise that was a grave mistake." If Fuyuhiko has noticed the way Akihiko's voice has increased in volume, he doesn't show it. Instead, he adjusts the cuffs of his shirt sleeves ( _Quit messing with your dumb suit and look at me_ , thinks Akihiko bitterly) and sighs tragically. "I must have indulged your childish fantasies far too much if, now that one of the greatest opportunities of your life is sitting right in front of you, you're still thinking of giving it up for something as unstable and frankly frivolous as a career in _writing_."

A particularly heavy gust of wind throws a barrage of raindrops against the window. Akihiko's fingernails are now biting into the wooden armrests of his chair; bizarrely, he feels his mouth curve into a cold sickle of a smile.

"Frivolous," he says, echoing Fuyuhiko again. His father's eyes drop briefly to Akihiko's shoulders; he's noticed them shaking. "Is that what you think? The only work I've ever cared about, the one thing in eighteen fucking years as a member of this family that's kept me sane, and you think it's a frivolous, childish fantasy?"

"Language, please, Akihiko," says Fuyuhiko calmly. He's looking down at the desktop- Not out of guilt, but hurt. Seeing it fills Akihiko with a twisted satisfaction. He doesn't care. Fuyuhiko knows what he thinks of him and the rest of this mess they call their family.

Grey eyes find his again, looking somehow wearier. "All I'm saying is you should reconsider your options before signing to Ryuichiro-kun's company. Not that the Isakas don't run a fine business," he adds, leaning confidentially forwards, "but you could get into law school you wanted-"

"I don't want to go to _any_ fucking law school!" The neat rows of pens leap in unison as Akihiko's fists pound against the desk. Fuyuhiko raises his eyebrows.

"I never wanted that, and you know it!" _You can't do this to me, I showed you, I thought you understood, you can't do this, I'm going to be a writer, a writer, a writer…_ "Why can't you let me make my own future, instead of trying to dump your version of it on me? For once in your life, why can't you give me a choice?!"

The hard, wooden chair topples to the floor on the last word with a loud _bang_. Akihiko is on his feet, glaring; Fuyuhiko rises to meet him.

"Because it seems when _given_ the choice, you'd rather drift around with your head in the clouds than do anything of worth with your life!"

And just like that, the anger inside Akihiko- the familiar flames he could feel kindling, igniting- dulls. The tension leaves his shoulders and they drop. He looks at Fuyuhiko blankly.

His father thinks his passion is worthless.

Already, he can see Fuyuhiko's stone-carved face beginning to crumble, but he isn't going to stick around and listen to him backpedal. He stoops and picks up his school bag without a word, swivelling around on his heel and heading for the door.

"Akihiko," his father calls behind him, calmer now. He keeps walking. "Akihiko, I'm only trying to help you. You have so much potential-"

"To do _what_ , old man?" he snaps, whipping his head around and glowering over his shoulder. Fuyuhiko is still standing behind the desk, looking sorry, but not in the remorseful way; rather, he looks like he's pitying Akihiko for lacking the mental capacity to understand his perspective. The boy's teeth clench. "To let go of my dream so I can spend another eight years on a futile quest to make you happy?"

"I understand it may seem daunting." His voice is so soft, so falsely compassionate, it grates on Akihiko's ears. "But our family has a reputation to uphold-"

"And since when have I cared about that?"

Watching him from across the room, Fuyuhiko compresses his lips into a thin, as if he doesn't trust himself to open them. He must know that there's nothing he can say to sway his son; why on earth would Akihiko want to keep playing Happy Families with the people who feel more like strangers than anything else? If Fuyuhiko wants him to be the perfect son, he should have thought of that, oh, eighteen fucking years ago.

Fuyuhiko knows this, so he doesn't say anything, and Akihiko continues. "You don't need me, anyway." It comes out a little more acidly than he intended. "Mister Goody-Two-Shoes is your heir, not me. Have him do the upholding for you."

Not even a wobble. "Just because Haruhiko will inherit ownership of the company does not make you exempt of responsibility."

There's that sneaky little word again: _responsibility_. Akihiko's heard it so often over the course of his life that the very mention of it makes him sick to his stomach. Every time- every damn time- he's tried to wrench himself free of the carefully constructed mould he was born into, Fuyuhiko throws that stupid word in his face: _You can't do that, Akihiko. You have to do everything my way. It's your responsibility._

Staring furiously at his father, Akihiko suddenly sees himself where Fuyuhiko is standing. He's older and his face is lined, his hair receding, and he's wearing a suit just like his father's, sitting in that oversized chair and filling out forms or reading reports or whatever it is he's supposed to do for the rest of his life. Dutifully carrying out his responsibility.

It's too much. Akihiko snaps.

"Well, too bad, old man, because I've had it," he snarls, and Fuyuhiko starts just a little as he kicks an overturned, wooden chair leg, denting it. "I've done every damn thing you've asked of me since I was born, and you've still found a million reasons to complain!"

He's pacing the carpet like a caged animal now, wide, grey eyes following him. He thinks of all those hours spent poring over dictionaries, textbooks, sheet music, straining desperately to reach his father's perpetually unattainable standards… What was the fucking point? "Well, I'm done taking orders from you. You can take whatever responsibility you've got in store for me and shove it up your wrinkly old-"

" _Akihiko,_ " Fuyuhiko cuts in. He's moved out from behind the desk and towards his son. "Think about what you're saying."

"What, are you worried about our reputation?" Akihiko, whirling on him, hisses. "Scared I'll expose you for the asshole you are, is that it? Maybe I'll write a book about it- _'My Asshole Father and the Rest of my Fucked Up Family'._ "

"Akihiko-"

"You might as well just stop bothering with me," he snaps, not giving Fuyuhiko a chance to begin. Even as he catches the wounded softness underlying the older man's stern gaze, he feels his own eyes narrow into cold slits. "As soon as I've made my second book deal with Marukawa, I'm leaving."

Fuyuhiko stills. It bolsters Akihiko.

"I'm leaving," he affirms, sneering, "and then we'll never have to be in contact again, and I won't be a stain on the Almighty Usami Clan anymore."

Outside, the wind starts to pick up; it moans its way past the window as father and son stand in crushing, claustrophobic silence. Akihiko notices, for the first time, that he's sweating all over. His fists are clenched. Fuyuhiko watches him wordlessly for what feels like hours, and when Akihiko sees him inhale, slowly and deeply, he has a brief, foolish spark of hope that his father might actually relent.

But then he folds his arms.

"You are not leaving, Akihiko," he says, quietly, and now his face is made of stone again. "And you aren't signing any more book deals. You're going to law school, and then you're going to join the family business, and the writing," he adds, grey-stone eyes looking pointedly into his son's, "is going to stop."

The walls begin to close in around Akihiko. An invisible force crushes the air from his lungs and he feels the muscles in his arms and shoulders going rigid, his fists trembling by his sides, his chest heaving up and down, faster and faster, and the figure of his father becomes a black silhouette on a blur of red…

_So that's it. There was never a choice in the first place._

When he manages to speak, it's a growl through tightly clenched teeth.

"Over my dead fucking body."

This time he doesn't hesitate; he's at the door before Fuyuhiko's outstretched hand can even graze his wrist. "Akihiko-"

"And I wish you'd die too, you piece of shit."

The slam of the heavy, oak door behind him reverberates through the empty house.

* * *

 _That was a little cliché,_ he thinks to himself, pulling haphazardly out of the Usami estate's huge driveway. Through the rain, he can see Tanaka standing in the lit doorway, Alexander at his heels, both watching his departure with round, worried eyes. Whatever guilt he feels is marginal as he swings the car (a sleek, black Porsche he bought with the first royalty cheque his novel earned) away from the manor and speeds off down the tree-sheltered, rain-slicked road.

He wonders what his editors would say if he turned in such banal material: _artsy teenager fights with oppressive parent, tells them to die, and storms out._ As a supposed prodigy in the field of storytelling, he's disappointed with himself for not giving his and Fuyuhiko's brief encounter a more original ending.

It's like a cruel reminder, he thinks, of how easily Fuyuhiko could tear his creativity away from him if he so wished. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. He can't really force Akihiko to go to law school. He can't stop him from writing…

Can he?

The engine growls as his foot presses down on the accelerator, tyres throwing up showers of dirty water either side of him. He needs as much distance as possible between himself and his father.


	3. Chapter 3

"I love it."

Akihiko starts; they've been sitting in the empty school library for so long that he was starting to zone out. But when warm, brown eyes meet his, sparkling behind those round spectacles, it's all he can do to hide the jolt as his pulse spikes.

"You do?"

Handing the thick manuscript back to his friend, Takahiro nods, that guileless grin that Akihiko's come to adore broadening. "It's one of the best novels I've ever read in my whole life! You're such an amazing writer, Usagi," he sighs, causing Akihiko's heart to miss a beat or ten. "I just know you're gonna be famous one day!"

Akihiko lets out a dry laugh. "I don't know about that," he says, tucking the manuscript back into his school satchel. "We only have year at this place left, and then my dad wants me to go study law at Teito University. I doubt I'll have much time for writing then."

His voice hardens along with his features as he speaks, shuddering at the grim prospect of what Fuyuhiko's laid out for him. Across the table, Takahiro stares at him, and he looks as though he's about to say something when the final bell rings. There's no-one in the library but them, but soon a teacher will be along to shoo them out. Akihiko starts gathering up the rest of his things, glancing at Takahiro as he does so.

"See you tomorrow?"

"Usagi, wait."

A warm hand closes around his wrist. Surprised, he looks up. Takahiro is looking at him in a way he's never looked at him before, a strange fierceness glittering in his gaze that takes Akihiko's breath away.

"It would be such a waste to send you to law school," he says, with a vehemence that sounds quite out of place on the usually mild-mannered teen's tongue. "You _have_ to become a writer, Usagi. I want the rest of the world to get to feel exactly how I feel when I read your words."

Akihiko's eyes widen. _Takahiro…_ Does he have any idea how _his_ words make Akihiko feel? They always seem to fall from his lips so freely, with such unabashed earnestness, wrapping themselves around Akihiko's tender heart until it's racing with the effort to escape, to shake off these wretched emotions his friend unwittingly arouses within him.

"I can't, though," he says once he's sure his voice won't betray him. "You know what my dad's like…"

Takahiro doesn't waver. "If he read even one page of what you just showed me, he'd realise how wrong he is." Without letting go of Akihiko's wrist, he runs around the table, grabbing the other one with his free hand. Akihiko's mouth goes dry. "Usagi, _please_ publish it."

"Publish?" he echoes dumbly. Takahiro responds with an eager nod.

"People need to see your work. And _I_ want to see you make the most you possibly can out of your gift!" Doubt must be showing plainly on Akihiko's features, because his friend adds, "You don't have to do everything your dad wants you to, you know."

"I…" He blinks. He was about to say 'I know', but come to think of it, Takahiro's just told him something so obvious he didn't even realise he's been missing it his whole life. _I don't_ , he thinks, and it's like someone's switched on a light bulb in his brain. _I don't have to do everything father wants._

His focus returns to Takahiro, who's watching him with large, hopeful eyes. Trying to ignore how close he is to his friend's face, he takes a deep breath. "I'll think about it."

But when Takahiro beams the biggest, most radiant smile he's ever seen upon him, Akihiko's mind is made up in an instant. They stand there amidst the bookshelves, the warm rays of the setting sun pouring like honey through the windows and making them both glow, and Akihiko thinks, _I'll do it for you, Takahiro_. He wants to keep sharing his words with the one he cherishes. He wants to see that smile a thousand times over.

He's going to be a writer.

_I'm going to be a writer_.

Now he's roaring along the highway in his black Porsche, rain hammering the rooftop like bullets and rippling across blurred windows. The sky has gone from red to murky black, split by the occasional fork of lightning. Countless headlamps streak past as Akihiko pushes steadily down on the accelerator, his knuckles white around the wheel and his muscles paralysed with fury.

He _won't_ spend another eight years playing out the miserable role his father insists on casting him in. He can do whatever the fuck he wants with his life. Takahiro made him realise that, and damned if Akihiko's going to let him down.

Takahiro… He needs him. The needle on the speedometer continues to swing tremulously to the right. He'll go downtown Tokyo and find him, it can't be too hard, he'll still be out drinking… Where did he say he was going when he invited Akihiko? He'll tell him he changed his mind. Akihiko will gladly subject himself to an evening surrounded by his shitfaced classmates now, if it means he can get shitfaced with them- Maybe even enough that he and Takahiro will end up having some kind of drunken liaison. At the very least, enough that he can forget the whole nauseating ordeal with his stupid fucking son-of-a-bitch father.

Just thinking of it reawakens the angry tremors wracking his body. Blood roars in his ears, mingling with the distant thunder and the thousands of engines on the road with him. _Fuck you, old man_ , he thinks, hoping Fuyuhiko can hear him somehow. _I meant what I said. I hope you fucking die._

His foot is still bearing downwards on the accelerator, almost unconsciously. Up ahead, a blinding flash of lightning bathes the black-and-white road briefly in colour. The windshield wipers squeal across the glass in front of him and he grinds his teeth.

_Nobody is going to take my dream away from me._ The neon lights of central Tokyo loom into view, twinkling dully through the downpour, and he makes a beeline for it, swerving several slower cars and rounding a bend. In his agitation, he suddenly stomps on the pedal and shouts,

"You hear that, you old bastard?!" Another bend; he wrenches the wheel to one side. "Nobody! I hope you _fucking-_ "

If Fuyuhiko can hear him, he'll never know for sure what Akihiko hopes. It's drowned out by a screech of tyres on slick tarmac, the deafening crunch and scrape of metal against metal, the shattering of a million tiny shards of glass as, for a split second, gravity ceases to exist and Akihiko's hands leave the steering wheel. Then he's thrown in every direction at once, and there's a series of sickening thuds and a blink of searing, unbearable pain before he slams forwards into the dash, and his senses mute themselves.

Then he's watching the rain fall sideways, and there's something warm and sticky beneath his cheek. He's only dimly aware of the crushing weight on top of him. His ears are filled with static, and his vision with flashing, blue lights and something else mingling with the rainwater, red, and somewhere in the back of his dazed mind, a voice muses _How unoriginal_ , but it's too late for re-writes as he slips away into blackness.

Then the blackness becomes a dazzling white, and there's a dull ache throbbing throughout every inch of Akihiko's body. His head is pounding, the inside of his mouth is sticky, and he can't move his legs. A muddle of voices babbles in his ears until he finally manages to pry his eyes open, several dark shapes looming spectrally above him.

As the world swims back into focus, the heart-stopping reality of what he's done closes in on Akihiko like a fist.

He's silent throughout the doctor's explanation- he's broken this and punctured that- and he's silent upon hearing that his shiny new car is now a smoking, twisted mass of metal in the middle of the highway. He's silent as his mother runs her fingers awkwardly through his hair. He's even silent as his father- after a ten-minute verbal thrashing- wraps him tightly in his arms and tells him how scared he was. The parental affection he's yearned for since childhood barely registers; Akihiko simply lies there and allows himself to be held, numb.

He's knows even before they tell him that he's killed someone. And he's already expecting it to haunt him for the rest of his life, already preparing himself for the survivor's guilt that will inevitably coil itself around him like a snake, twisting and writhing within him until it slowly drives him insane. But despite this, there's nothing in the world that can prepare Akihiko for the full truth.

* * *

_It must be a joke_ , he tells himself afterwards. A cruel, sick joke.

No. Not a joke. This is Akihiko's punishment; the universe's merciless way of slapping some sense into him after all those years of pitying himself, the directionless rage, the disgustingly arrogant notion that he was somehow _better_ than everyone else, that he deserved more. Deserved freedom. Deserved love.

Deserved Takahiro.

_Oh, Takahiro…_ His cold fingers tighten around the handle of his umbrella. Through the grey drizzle- so calm and silent compared to the storm that night- he sees the shadowy outline of the one he loves, so still he could be mistaken for one of the monuments. The new, black suit doesn't quite fit him, and his hair is plastered to his head, dipped slightly, by the rain. _This is all my fault. I'm so…_

He can't go on, because there aren't enough words in the world to articulate his regret. To think he wished his own parents dead… Now he's taken from his beloved Takahiro something he couldn't possibly make up for, ever. He's no better than the mud beneath his shoes.

Ahead, the still shape of Takahiro finally comes to life. He doesn't look at Akihiko as he walks away from the twin headstones; it's doubtful he's even noticed him. Icy water drips from Akihiko's umbrella and down the back of his neck, and he allows the chill to spread through him.

_I'll never try to claim you as my own, Takahiro_ , he promises, watching him leave. That dream was shattered the moment the police officer read out the names of the victims- _Akihiko's_ victims. _And I know that if I was any kind of true friend, I'd cut myself out of your life for good._

_**You'd do more than that, you'd come clean, you'd tell him you killed them, you'd kill** _ **yourself** _**…** _

_But I'm too cowardly for that._

_So, from this day forth… If there's anything you need, anything at all… I will always, always be there for you._

Akihiko is so absorbed in his friend's retreating back as he makes this silent pledge, he barely notices the other, tiny figure, clinging to Takahiro's hand as they fade away into the rainy mist.


	4. Chapter 4

It's another one of those nights. The moon is high outside Akihiko's bedroom window, and Misaki is trembling in his arms as the author rocks him, waiting for him to sob himself back to sleep.

Every tiny sniffle and hiccup, every tremor of the tiny body is another crushing wave of guilt, crashing down on Akihiko as he leans back against the headboard, a tangle of bedclothes and Misaki in his lap. He runs his fingers through dark, dishevelled hair and brushes tears from wet cheeks to no avail; Misaki cries harder and Akihiko holds him tighter, hoping that he'll take this as a gesture for his own comfort, not Akihiko's.

"I miss them so much."

"I know."

"If I'd j-just waited a little longer for Nii-chan to get home… I-if I hadn't called d-dad while he was driving…"

The words, choked out between breathless, broken sobs, twist themselves in Akihiko's gut like knives. He kisses the crown of Misaki's head, burying his nose in silky hair and inhaling deeply, allowing the scent to which he's become so dangerously addicted to soothe the edges of his ragged nerves.

"Don't say that." _Please, please don't._

"It's all my fault…"

"It's not your fault, my love."

And for the thousandth time, the words _it's mine_ come bubbling up, only to stick in Akihiko's throat. He keeps on showering Misaki with gentle kisses, murmuring words of comfort into his ear, but his guilt-ridden conscience whirrs in the back of his mind all the while.

Back before he met Misaki, he thought he could live with it. He kept his promise; he answered to Takahiro's every beck and call, constantly by his side but forever keeping his distance, no matter how much it hurt- To know that he would never understand the true nature of Akihiko's feelings for him, to see his heart eventually claimed by another. Akihiko welcomed the pain. It helped alleviate the slippery, slimy whispers that were always gnawing away at him, reminding him.

Reminding him that, whilst Takahiro was distracted by mourning, Akihiko had not owned up or even been there to comfort him, instead choosing to cower in the hospital whilst Fuyuhiko paid thousands upon thousands to cover up his son's actions, shielding the family's precious reputation from further damage. Reminding him that he'd kept his mouth shut even as Takahiro sprawled on his couch at three AM, six empty beer cans scattered around him, pouring out his drunken woes to the very person who'd caused them. Reminding him that- despite allowing his father to ship him off to law school as punishment- he'd gotten his dream to become a writer, whereas Takahiro's own ambitions lay in pieces, all thanks to him.

The pain of Takahiro's being beyond his reach made the shame just about bearable. So on that snowy, December night when Takahiro announced his engagement, Akihiko thought maybe, _just maybe_ , it would start to get easier…

And then, of course, he made the most stupid mistake of his entire life and fallen for Misaki, just as hard and twice as deeply as he'd fallen for his older brother.

He still doesn't know what it was about the stubborn, feisty little brat that captivated him so. All he knows is that this time, he couldn't control himself. He's ruined Misaki's life just as much as he's ruined Takahiro's… and yet he's given in to his desire and taken the man for himself even so.

It's not like back when Takahiro was the one he wanted. Now, instead of lessening, his remorse grows and grows with each passing day.

 _ **You can't keep doing this to him**_ **,** he tells himself, watching as Misaki's eyelids droop and the flow of tears begins to slow. He clutches the man to his chest.

_But I can't let him go._

The guilt curdles and blackens, like tar. He knows he can't live a lie forever. But then Misaki shifts and buries his face in Akihiko's chest, and he feels his warm tears soaking through his shirt front, and he decides- like countless other times- to prolong the lie for one more day. Misaki needs him now, so he pushes the fears and doubts away for later. Always later…


	5. Chapter 5

He tries to stick to the facts when he tells Misaki. He refrains from pouring the tumultuous emotions that have built up over the past decade into his hands; doing so would only serve to twist his explanation into a pathetic plea for pity. His voice is quiet, slow and halting- as though he's reading from a script- but it still seems too loud within the near-silent graveyard. The sun inches its way up the horizon, shadows shortening along with the burning incense stick as he finally releases, carefully and methodically, the words that have been eating away at him from the inside for so long. The words he should have said to Takahiro ten years ago.

Misaki doesn't interrupt him once, doesn't even move or make a sound. He just sits and listens, staring at the space between the headstones, more sakura petals drifting down to rest in his hair and on his clothes. He only dislodges them a minute or so after Akihiko finishes his story, shoulders lifting as he draws in a heavy sigh.

"That's why you were so afraid to let me anywhere near your family."

"Yes," Akihiko replies. His voice is hoarse despite the softness of it. "I mean, I didn't really think my father would tell you, since he's the one who covered it up, but…"

He trails off into bitterness. All this time, he's been trying to reassure himself that _he would never tell Misaki, he's just as scared of me being found out as I am_ , when really he should have been telling himself the exact opposite. He should have known how far the old geezer would be willing to go to get his way. Akihiko knew from the start that his father didn't approve of Misaki- like the Usami family was _too good_ for him, despite what they've done to him- but he never expected him to actively wrench them apart.

Apparently, Fuyuhiko deemed the shame of his son being associated with a commoner-homosexual a greater blow to the family's reputation than that of involuntary manslaughter.

Trust him to betray Akihiko right when he thought he was safe; when he dared hope he and Misaki might actually have a future; when he was actually considering telling Misaki himself, someday, in his own way… Now, he wishes more than ever that he did so when he had the chance, so that Misaki didn't have to read it online after Fuyuhiko 'accidentally' leaked the details to the media.

Misaki himself is still not looking at Akihiko. "You _let_ him cover it up," he says, and though the accusatory sharpness of the statement stings, it's better than the previous, emotionless voice Misaki was speaking in.

"Yes," he says again.

After a pregnant pause, Misaki finally looks at him. The green depths of his eyes are burning with questions, demanding that Akihiko elaborate, explain himself, present _some_ kind of defence. Perhaps he wants to be able to justify what Akihiko's done just as much as the author himself. Misaki is undoubtedly still reeling; maybe it's not real answers he wants, but simply an excuse- no matter how pathetic- for them both to cling to.

But Akihiko will not make excuses for himself. He says nothing, and Misaki's already pinched brow creases with anguish.

"Usagi-san, I don't… _Why_?" he says, softly but no less aggrieved for it. "Why wouldn't you say anything to me? To Nii-chan? You've _been_ here-" He throws his hands towards the headstones, solemnly regarding the two of them, "-so many times, with all of us, and paid your respects with us, when all along it was _you_ who…"

The ends of the sentence catches in his throat, and he squeezes his eyes and his lips shut. Akihiko feels like there's a taut thread between them, about to snap. He can barely breathe.

"How could you just stand by all this time?" Misaki asks once he's steadied himself. "I mean, you… you've been watching us grieve for ten years. You sat here and laid flowers with us. You drank with Nii-chan in our house. You let me cry on your shoulder, night after night… We _trusted_ you, Usagi-san, we thought you were the one who was always there for us, and you…

"How could you lie to us?"

This time, it's Akihiko's turn to look away, fearing he'll crack under the intensity of Misaki's gaze if he holds it any longer. He focuses instead of the twisting column of incense smoke, wishing there was even the slightest hint of hostility in his beloved's voice; anything but this awful, wounded undertone.

"Answer me!"

He sighs. "Because I'm not like you, Misaki," he says. "I'm selfish. Selfish, and cowardly. You and Takahiro are all I have, and I was too afraid to lose you. So afraid that I… I deceived you. And it's killed me, Misaki, it really has- It still does."

He can't help adding that last part, even though he knows it sounds like he's begging for forgiveness. The left side of his face sears, both with the recent injuries and Misaki's eyes on his skin.

"You said you never confessed to Nii-chan because of all this," the younger man says. His voice is so small now, Akihiko can barely hear it over the whisper of the sakura blossoms. "That you couldn't stand to do that to him. Did you… Did you not feel the same way about me?"

The way the words quiver tears right into Akihiko's heart. He makes himself look Misaki in the eyes again, even though it brings scalding tears to his own. He blinks them back; he has no right to cry whilst Misaki remains composed.

"Of course I did, Misaki," he promises. "And I knew from the moment I first kissed you that it was wrong, but…"

 _But kissing you was so warm when everything else was cold and dark, like the bottom of the ocean, I was drowning and you were my lifeline, Misaki, and I knew it was wrong but dammit, it felt so right, I wanted you so much, Misaki, I_ needed _you…_

Misaki waits, and he exhales. "I just loved you too much to let you go."

" _You just_ loved _me too much?_ "

The wind picks up along with Misaki's voice. Pink petals swirl and flurry by as he glares at Usagi-san, shoulders heaving, but the wildness in his expression only lasts a split second before fading. Then the blossoms settle to the ground, and Akihiko sees him grinding his teeth together to fight back whatever words want to come out. He knows it's not for his sake; his parents' resting place is sacred ground to Misaki, and he won't use vulgarities in their presence.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" he manages eventually.

Akihiko hesitates. "I don't know," he says, because he'd be lying if he said anything else. "I… wanted to, someday."

A slow nod is his only response as Misaki turns away again. Akihiko follows his gaze to the white flowers he's left on the graves- the same ones he always brings- which appear like burnished gold in the light that's beginning to turn orange. A few more minutes drift by.

"So, what are we gonna do now?"

Again with that gentleness… Why can't he be screaming at Akihiko, or spitting, cursing? The author, surprised at hearing this question posed as though he has a choice, opens and closes his mouth a few times before finding his answer.

"That's up to you." Is it just Akihiko, or is the sun rising a little faster? His and Misaki's shadows are shrinking away behind them, and for some reason it causes a chill to sweep over him. He has to swallow the dryness in his throat away before continuing. "I mean… I suppose you'll never want to see me again. Whatever you decide, I won't argue. But know that I'll always be yours alone, Misaki, and if there's anything you and Takahiro need or want…"

_Take it from me. Trample me, drain me, take what you want and leave me in the dust to die._

There's no answer from beside him. Akihiko, who is staring at the incense stick again, suddenly realises how long they must have been here for, because it's burned almost all the way down to the stub, leaving a long snake of ash in its wake. The orange light is paling, and he notices, for the first time, the twittering of the earliest birds up in the trees, and the stirrings of a breeze in the distance. The world is beginning to wake up.

He watches the smouldering end of the incense stick snuff itself out, the last of the smoke curling away into the fresh, morning air.

"I killed your parents, Misaki. And if you want me to pay, or leave, or die in return, then I'll do it."

As soon as the words leave him, it's as though he's heaved something out of him; something that's been festering inside him for years upon years, like a rotten tooth, black and twisted. He releases the breath he took, closing his eyes as he does so, feeling every joint in his body seeming to loosen despite the sorrow that sits heavily in his chest.

He's said it- Ten years too late, but he's said it. Now Misaki will leave him, move on with his life and fall in love with someone better than Akihiko, who will live out the remainder of his days as a national disgrace whilst the regret and the heartache and the bitterness slowly corrode him away.

In other words, he'll get exactly what he deserves.

And so he sits beside Misaki and steels himself for the blow. His eyes are still closed, and he can feel falling petals kissing his bruised flesh, hear the sighing of the wind- At least, he thinks that quiet sigh is just the wind, at first.

"I don't get you, Usagi-san."

When he opens his eyes, he finds that Misaki is looking at him again. Something has changed, Akihiko realises right away; the eyes he knows so well are no longer blank and empty, nor are they cold and hostile. Misaki looks… more like _his_ Misaki.

"All these years, you've been trying to make me believe it wasn't my fault," he says. "Telling me I can't blame myself for something I had no control over… But the whole time, you were doing the same thing."

"I…" Akihiko blinks, his mind whirring uncomprehendingly for a moment or two. "What?"

There's a pause before Misaki shuffles around to face him. Akihiko does the same, bewildered, and they sit cross-legged in front of each other. Misaki's mother stands protectively over him; his father keeps watch over Akihiko. The smaller man looks up and takes a deep breath.

"Usagi-san… What happened that night was nobody's fault."

Immediately, Akihiko opens his mouth to protest, but Misaki cuts him off before he can begin.

"I mean, now that I know the whole story… We could blame anyone, you know? We could blame me for calling my dad when he was driving. We could blame my dad for _taking_ the call while he was driving. We could blame Nii-chan for leaving me home alone. We could blame your dad, for making you angry, or we could blame you for going so fast, heck, we could blame the _weather man_ , for not warning anyone about the storm.

"But the truth is, it wasn't anyone's fault. It was just an accident… A sad, horrible, stupid accident."

No words are able to form on Akihiko's tongue, but he feels his jaw drop. The sudden display of wisdom has struck him into a stupor. Misaki should be overwhelmed, conflicted, irrational… Why is he gazing at Akihiko so sagely, as though he understands everything perfectly? As though he's understood all along?

"You didn't kill them, Usagi-san." The statement is calm, but cracked with restrained emotion, proving that Misaki isn't as unaffected as he appears outwardly. "No more than I did, anyway. It wasn't your fault or mine. It just… was.

"And you know," he continues, and now Akihiko can see the faint glisten of his green eyes. It's highlighted by the golden sunlight, surrounding Misaki's figure with a halo-like glow. "Maybe this sounds awful, but… maybe it was meant to happen."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" He's trembling. "I… I miss my mom and dad every day. And I wish they were still here with me. But, if I hadn't lost them that night…"

If Akihiko was already struggling to understand, what Misaki says next makes the leap from unbelievable to downright impossible.

"Well, I probably would never have met you, Usagi-san."

Both of their lower lips are quivering; Misaki's with tears, Akihiko's with disbelief. A few small, strangled noises catch in the back of the author's throat before he can form a coherent response.

"But… I… Misaki, I'm a curse on you, your whole family. Don't you see that?"

"Don't get me wrong, Usagi-san," he replies, and his watery voice hardens into ice again. "I'm _furious_ with you. In fact, I'm probably only saying half of this stuff because my head is so messed up right now. But… I don't think you're a curse. Or maybe I do, but I also think you're a blessing. Maybe you're both at the same time."

He's rambling now, looking down at his lap, but Akihiko can't bring himself to stop him. Misaki drops his head into his hands as he struggles to explain.

"What I mean is… Even if you hadn't been the one in that car, Usagi-san, I would still have called my dad. The road would still have been wet. It was always going to happen, no matter what, but if it _hadn't_ been you, I never would have met you, and you never would have helped me realise it wasn't my fault.

"Losing my parents was one of… no, the worst thing that ever happened to me. But meeting you was one of the best things, Usagi-san, and that couldn't have happened if I hadn't lost mom and dad. You know?"

Truthfully, Akihiko doesn't know; he's barely following. But he thinks it best to let Misaki offload the swirling maelstrom of thoughts that's clearly been brewing since the moment he sat down in this cemetery.

"Maybe that's just the way everything is," the younger man says. His hands are clasped together in his lap. "Bad things only happen because of good things, and good things can't happen without bad things. They're all… twisted together, and it's impossible to separate them.

"It's like… It's like…" He raises his head to look at Akihiko, and there's a hint of hysteria in his expression. "I don't know, what is it like? You're the one who's good with words."

 _Am I, though?_ He turns everything Misaki's said slowly over in his mind. Maybe he's right. Maybe his and Misaki's fates themselves are twisted inseparably together, each of their pain and suffering merely necessary counterparts to the joy they bring each other. Maybe, had Misaki's parents survived, he and Akihiko would have simply crossed paths at some other tragedy, at a different time. Maybe…

Maybe they really were meant to die, just as Akihiko and Misaki were meant to find each other.

Maybe it wasn't his fault.

The thought creates a strange vacuum in Akihiko's mind as he stares at the twin monuments. Half of the stone is dull and grey; the other half gleams with golden sunrays.

"Like light and shadows," he murmurs, feeling far away. "One can't exist without the other."

Slowly, Misaki nods. "Yeah. Exactly."

They lapse again into silence. Misaki is still contemplating his intertwining fingers, but Akihiko's eyes are locked firmly on him. He can't help it. As much as he knows it shouldn't be, he feels his heart pounding guiltily with anticipation. With…

_Hope._

"Misaki…" His mouth is so dry; he has to force the name past the lump in his throat. "What are you trying to say?"

The dark head of hair in front of him is still, aside from the odd lock or two fluttering in the breeze, and for a moment or two Akihiko thinks Misaki is too lost in his thoughts to have heard him. But then he looks up and their eyes meet once again.

Misaki inhales and exhales deeply before replying.

"I _hate_ that you lied to me," he says, sending another stab through Akihiko's chest. "And I hate that I've been in the dark all these years, when the answers I was looking for were so close. And finding out that it was always a one-or-the-other choice, between you and two people I love just as much… I hate that.

"But I could never hate _you_ , Usagi-san."

Akihiko is frozen. He wants to argue, to grab Misaki by the shoulders and tell him _no_ , he _has_ to hate Akihiko, he has to despise him down to his very core, or else how will he ever feel that he's righted all of his grotesque wrongdoings, and Misaki that his parents have gotten their justice? And yet, for all his protests that are boiling so close to the surface, all he finds himself doing is releasing the breath he's been holding.

"And that's why I know I'll forgive you, one day." Misaki turns away as he says this, facing the graves once more. "Even if that day is a long way away."

The silence seems to stretch on for miles as Akihiko sits and stares at him, his lips parted and his eyes wide and misting. _Here_ , he thinks, _is an angel._

An angel who is clutching at Akihiko's throat with invisible hands, rendering speech impossible.

An angel who is flooding every one of Akihiko's senses, for whom his heart is trying desperately to burst free from his chest.

An angel who Akihiko has torn apart and stitched crudely back together again, piece by piece… and who is _still_ willing to help him fix what he's broken. To help him fix himself. _Them_ selves.

He can't take it. The impact of such beauty shatters him.

"Misaki," he finally manages to choke out, "Misaki, I-"

"Don't." Only then does Akihiko notice that Misaki's knuckles are white, and his shoulders are tense and high as they can go. "Don't thank me, or tell me you're sorry, or anything. It'll just make me madder if you do."

Akihiko nods jerkily. A barely visible shiver disturbs Misaki's delicate frame, and at first Akihiko is afraid to touch him. But then it grows into shaking, so violent that he's gripped with a sudden and irrational fear that his beloved will fall to pieces right before his eyes, and he can't stand it, so he grabs Misaki's hand without thinking and holds it tightly. The first harsh sob escapes the younger man, tears cascading down his cheeks as the dam breaks, but he grasps Akihiko's cold hand and God, is it possible to feel so crushed and so elevated at the same time?

"J-just…" Misaki whimpers, fingernails digging into Akihiko's palm. "Just stay here, will you?"

The cuts on Akihiko's face sting with salt. "Always."

He turns himself so they're sitting side-by-side again. Ahead, the sun breaks the horizon at last, spilling colour into the cemetery and bringing choruses of birdsong along with it. It continues to rain with pink blossoms, and Misaki and Akihiko stay until they're half buried, blessing the earth beneath which the Takahashis lie with their tears. The headstones of Misaki's mother and father stand guard over them; sombre, but also, it somehow seems, at peace.

To Akihiko, everything that lies behind and ahead is in fragments. But he's anchored to the here and now by Misaki's warm hand, whose fingers remain intertwined with his, so tightly that it feels like no force in the universe could ever untangle them, and he can't be sure where one of them stops and the other one begins.


End file.
